


The Moment of Surrender

by cosmosmariner



Series: Distant Voices 'Verse [6]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Romantic Gestures, and Illya likes it but will deny it forever, once again Napoleon is a sentimental sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosmariner/pseuds/cosmosmariner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they need is each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moment of Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at my writing journal 3/28/11

Christmas Eve, 1975

“When did you find the time to do all of this, Napoleon?”

Napoleon had surprised Illya with a Christmas tree in the living room, and a tiny, brightly wrapped present underneath. The dark haired man smiled and adjusted the popcorn garland on the tree. “What do you think I do when you are grading papers, just sit around twiddling my thumbs? Besides, I had help. Pauline came by with some ornaments.”

Illya smiled. “I knew some of them looked familiar. But, honestly, Napoleon. I don’t have a present for you, and you’ve purchased one for me. It puts me in a bad light.”

Napoleon put his hand on Illya’s shoulder and squeezed. “Your love is the greatest present I could have, Illya. However, I thought I might give you a little gift this year, as symbolism for getting my life back and all.”

Illya’s grin grew wider. “You sentimental idiot. I suppose I should blame Jacob for helping you.”

“Well, yes, he did assist me. But it was all my idea.”

“Naturally.”

Napoleon laughed. “Do you want to open your present on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?”

Illya turned to his partner. “Tradition maintains that I open my gift on Christmas morning. Unless, of course, there’s more than one gift I should be opening.” He maintained a serious look on his face while deftly unbuckling Napoleon’s belt with one hand.

Napoleon looked down and caught the wicked glimmer in his lover’s eye. “This is a gift that keeps on giving.”

\--

Christmas morning found Illya in his blue pajamas, while Napoleon wore his burgundy robe and a pair of flannel pants. Illya had received a stollen from a coworker and they ate it for Christmas breakfast. Napoleon turned on the tree lights and sat down in Illya’s favorite chair, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently.

“Come on, Illya. Aren’t you curious about your gift?”

Illya smiled and sat on the floor at Napoleon’s feet, leaning against his knee. “If it means that much to you, then certainly.”

Napoleon handed the small box to his love, taking the opportunity to run his fingers through his blond hair after letting go of the gift. Illya unwrapped it carefully, folding the paper into a neat square. He opened the box and gasped.

“Napoleon, it’s beautiful.”

It was a fine gold watch with diamonds at twelve and six. Illya lifted it out of the box and looked at it closely.

“Look at the back,” Napoleon murmured.

Illya turned the watch around and noticed engraving on the back of the dial. It was the word “Forever” in Russian. He put the watch on and rose to his knees, turning around toward Napoleon. “This is beyond what I expected, Pasha.”

“What did you expect, tovarisch?”

Illya’s expression turned sheepish. “I really didn’t expect anything.’

Napoleon reached over and traced Illya’s cheek with his finger. “You never do. But I felt guilty, too, that you may have lost your job, your new life because of me. I can afford to do this.”

“Capitalist Americans always think they can purchase everything,” Illya sighed.

“I can’t purchase a job, and I couldn’t purchase your love,” Napoleon countered.

“You already had my love. It was free.”

Napoleon leaned in closer to Illya and kissed him softly. “Do I still?”

The blond nodded, and returned Napoleon’s kiss.

\--

_December 28, 1975_

Napoleon folded the last pair of socks and put them into his suitcase. “I wish there was a different way, but I have to return to New York. I don’t want to leave you. My birthday won‘t be right without you.”

Illya poked his head out from his closet. “I don’t know if I can come with you, Napoleon. It would bring back so many different memories.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “I’m not sure I can face the past so vividly.”

Napoleon took Illya’s arm and dragged him into the room. He put his hands on the Russian’s shoulders and leaned in close, foreheads touching. “You, Illya Kuryakin, can face anything. You’ve done it before. You have more strength than anyone else I know. I love you for it.”

Illya stepped away from Napoleon. “Maybe then. Maybe not now.” He looked up and could see the pain and hurt reflected in Napoleon’s hazel eyes.

“The trip won’t be forever. I’ll be back. I have to take care of some things for Solo and Associates. But I will be back. I promise.”

Illya stood at the door and watched as Napoleon drove away. Later that evening, Napoleon called him long distance. “Illya, I miss you. I wish you were here.”

“It’s only been a few hours.”

The line crackled. “A few hours too long. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I love you. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

Illya’s hand curled around the phone cord. “Yes. Yes, please.”

Illya hung up the phone and walked into his bedroom. He fell onto the bed, his nose buried in Napoleon’s pillow, breathing deep. It smelled like him, and it comforted Illya and devastated him all at once. The pain was intense. It felt as though he was being torn apart from the inside out. Damn his foolish pride - after all this time, it still ruled his life with an iron fist.

The next morning, he woke up to pillows and sheets strewn across the room. A restless night, strange dreams and an overwhelming hunger for Napoleon invaded his thoughts. Illya no longer gave a damn about grading tests or not being able to face the past. All he cared about - all he needed - was Napoleon. He surrendered.

\--

Napoleon taped up the box. He had already packed one bookcase and was working on another. The pictures were wrapped in newspaper. A half eaten corned beef sandwich and sour pickle lay on a plate next to him on the floor. This apartment was a far cry from the posh digs he lived in as an UNCLE agent. The carpet was shabby and the view was awful.

He had tried calling Illya twice already, but had no reply. He wondered if maybe he had gone to dinner, or was working late that evening assisting Greyling with lesson plans for the upcoming few months. Napoleon sighed. He missed Illya so much. It was strange; he had weathered the past few years without him, but one evening away after finding him again was like a knife through the heart.

There was a knock on the door. It was time for the super to come by with the other boxes he found; he was running out of packing materials.

“Coming,” Napoleon called out.

He opened the door.

“Pasha. Quite the step down, isn’t it?”

Napoleon smiled. This apartment was the most beautiful place on earth.


End file.
